


Stormy Night

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Battle, Post-War, Season/Series 05 Spoilers, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, taking care of shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 14:19:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14166726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: Lance notices that Shiro's not coming down with the rest of them.--Even Lance can feel his adrenaline slipping, dripping, ebbing away like the blood of the people surrounding them. Yet, while his body’s starting to relax, fatigue cutting its way through, he watches Shiro, still tense, as his fingers curl tighter and tighter still around his bayard. That can’t be a good sign.





	Stormy Night

**Author's Note:**

> _(the lovely) achryadaiako suggested:_
> 
> _"Stormy Night" Post War_
> 
> originally posted on tumblr [here](http://cryingovershance.tumblr.com/post/171950398089/stormy-night-post-war)
> 
> will post the others eventually, needed something for this month on ao3, since i did write it this month

Even Lance can feel his adrenaline slipping, dripping, ebbing away like the blood of the people surrounding them. Yet, while his body’s starting to relax, fatigue cutting its way through, he watches Shiro, still tense, as his fingers curl tighter and tighter still around his bayard. That can’t be a good sign. 

 

He takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders, and fights back the exhuastion that wants to hit him  _right now_. He steps forward, slowly, and makes sure he’s within Shiro’s view long enough to know that it’s him, not another enemy. There’s nobody to fight anymore, and Shiro should be able to step down with the rest of them. “Shiro, hey,” he tries, gently, and tries to make himself small and nonthreatening. He doesn’t even have his bayard on him anymore and he’s taken off his helmet, so he’s sure that that isn’t too hard to accomplish. 

 

Shiro’s eyes swing to him, blank and focusing. They see him, but they don’t, and for a brief second fear pumps through Lance because – because no, they can’t lose him again, not  _again_. First, after the battle with Zarkon, then when Haggar got her dirty little hooks into him and now, when they’ve  _surely_  won –

 

 _No_ , he reminds himself before he freak himself out of helping his friend, his teammate, his leader, his –  _Shiro_. Shiro’s got PTSD, he thinks. Shiro’s got a problem with high tense situations, with fighting, and it’s only gotten worse over time. 

 

(He’s not the only one anymore, but Lance doesn’t let his brain stick on that train of thought long.)

 

He puts his hands into the air, showing that their empty and harmless, and moves even closer, trying to keep that eye contact as he speaks, hoping to remind Shiro who he is, where they are. He keeps his words quiet, just talking about things that aren’t  _this_ , things like, “– we get back, we can get some nice cocoa equivalent that you love so much, get a real nice fluffy blanket. Curl up real tight and safe, you’re  _safe_ , Shiro, you know that?”

 

He falls to his knees in front of him, and presses his finger’s to Shiro’s, still wrapped around that weapon he doesn’t need, but uses sometimes anyway. It unifies them to him, maybe, but Lance has never really pushed about it. Shiro’s eyes follow him, dark like the sky of a stormy night, sparking with something dangerous. If Lance squints, he can tell himself that it’s starting to sink away, just like the fingers he’s slowly pulling away. 

 

After a few more minutes of this, Lance freeing the bayard and setting it aside, Shiro collpases to his knees as well, eyes squeezing shut, and Lance reaches to brush hands through his hair. He wipes the sweatier locks from his forehead and does his best to relax him with his minstrations. He’s not all that sure of what he’s saying anymore, but he can feel his voice working, lips moving, and it seems to help, so he doesn’t stop. 

 

Sometime after, Shiro, eyes still closed, whispers, “Lance?”

 

“Yeah?” He asks, keeping his eyes on Shiro even as he takes one of his hands between his own and attempts to uncurl the tight – painfully so – fist he’s making. Shiro lets him, but instead takes those fingers and clenches around Lance’s arms; Lance lets him. 

 

“Thank you,” Shiro breathes out, and Lance’s heart, melting already, splutters weakly. Damn. 

 

He nods his head, through Shiro isn’t looking, and just pulls Shiro closer to himself, into his lap and chest. “Of course. Of course – always.” He can’t imagine doing anything else.


End file.
